Getting Down With My Bad Self

In an effort to a.) write more and b.) write more here, I'm participating in Get it Down, Trixie's write-every-day challenge for October. Not only is it an excuse to write every day*, it's also a way to celebrate Down's Syndrome Awareness Month (don't tell me you already had plans). Join us!

*I had a writing teacher in college who told me that 'not only.. but also...' constructions hardly ever work. But I love them so!

Ar ar ar ar ar ar

You know you're too busy when having the flu is the best thing ever. Tuesday our new housemate (did I mention we moved?) had it, and by last night both Brian and I were laid out on the couch, too weak do do anything but sip rootbeer and watch Season 3 of Buffy (luckily, new housemate, in addition to being plague-ridden, has an excellent collection of DVDs).

So yeah. Slept from 1 til five today. Had crazy dreams, where main street Brattleboro was at the end of Haight St., and I was getting fitted for an much too small pair of shoes (were they denimn? Ew). Woke up to a cat fight, and to Hope's dog at the foot of my bed, mouth full of toys, wanting to wrassle.

Oh, my writing muscles are rusty.

It's the little things

Nothing breaks up the monotony of xeroxing like little anecdotes like this one (gleaned from a text for a Theories of Psych class):

His father was a naval officer, and Martin's favorite form of plat was floating his toy boats in the bathtub and torpedoiung them. Both parents had become frustrated with Martin because he consistently expelled his feces in his pants and not in the toilet. In desperation, they offered him twenty-five cents for every bowel movement he made in the toilet. Martin soon caluclated that it was not in his best interst to become toilet trained, because to do so would mean that he would ultimately lose money. Instead he would use the toilet for three days to earn the money. But the only way to keep the money flowing was to lose control periodically, and this he would do at home or at the homes of friends. One day, Martin's best friend'smother instisted that, at her house, he use the toilet. There she overheard him muttering to himself about Napoleon's battles. When he came out of the bathroom he informed her, "I'm Napoleon and Napoleon shits wherever he pleases!"

I am so cross-stiching "Napoleon shits wherever he pleases" on a sampler to go above the cat's litter box.